


Twice As Good (As Any Other Color)

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Canon, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: In a distant way, Jeyne knew that Sansa's maidenhair would be as red as the hair on her head, but knowing that fire will be hot is different than being burned.





	Twice As Good (As Any Other Color)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Sansa/Jeyne Pool, red

Sansa has red maidenhair.

It shouldn’t be shocking. In a distant way, Jeyne knew that it would be as red as the hair on her head, but knowing that fire will be hot is different than being burned. It’s actually a bit darker than the hair on her head. When Sansa leans forward from where she sits on the rock edge of the hot spring to dip her hand in, her hair slips forward over her shoulder to unfurl just under the surface of the water, and it turns the exact same red as her maidenhair, darker and heavier, swirling in the same tidy patterns in both places. Jeyne’s own maidenhair is coarse and curled. It doesn’t fan up in neat, flat lines the way Sansa’s does. It’s not nearly as pretty.

All at once, Jeyne realizes she’s been staring at Sansa’s crotch and she turns her head away, cheeks flaming. There are days she misses the uncomplicated simplicity of the two of them being children together, rather than young women only a few short years away from marriage. Then Sansa blithely stretches both arms above her head, her bare breasts pert and high and pink-tipped on her chest, and Jeyne feels guilty for how she doesn’t miss those days at all right now.

It would be warm, Jeyne thinks, between Sansa’s thighs. Maybe even warmer than the water of the springs. As hot as the fire of Sansa’s hair. She wants to touch her there, to part Sansa’s knees and see if she’s as pink under her maidenhair as the tips of her breasts are under the fall of her hair. When Jeyne is alone in her bed at night, she touches herself and imagine it’s Sansa’s fingers, as curious to explore Jeyne as Jeyne is to explore her. She imagines putting her mouth on all that pink – the tips of Sansa’s breasts, the pink between her legs, the pink that rises on her cheeks and belly and knees in the warmth of the water. Pink had always seemed such a sweet, innocent color when they were girls, a splash of unaccustomed luxury in the cold greys and browns and blacks of the North. It seems just as decadent now, but in a wholly different way. A way that makes Jeyne feel like a woman grown. A way that Jeyne dearly, deeply enjoys.

“How can you stay down in the water for so long?” Sansa asks. “I get so hot.” She spends most of her times at the springs sitting with her feet dangling, getting fully into the water only briefly on days as warm as this one. Jeyne doesn’t tell her that it’s too tempting to sit as Sansa does and hope for Sansa’s eyes on her the way her own are on Sansa. It would be too bold a move just yet, too frightening and too painful if Sansa looked at her as she would any other. Jeyne needs Sansa’s interest in a way that’s as heady as it is bothersome. She’s always been the needy one, the tag-along, the lowborn girl grateful for the attentions of a highborn friend. Deep in her secret heart, she loves feeling that way, but sometimes on the surface it can chafe.

If Sansa told her to get up out of the water, she would. If Sansa said “Spread your legs, Jeyne,” she would do so, trembling, aching, biting her lip in fearful hope of seeing intrigue on Sansa’s face. If Sansa told her to touch herself, she would obey. If Sansa said anything, Jeyne might die to see it done. It’s a power Jeyne suspects Sansa knows she has, maybe not at the front of her mind, but deep down. The same way Jeyne knew that Sansa’s maidenhair would be red without really knowing. The same way Jeyne knows that if she touched Sansa there, Sansa would burn. Sansa is too kind to use it against Jeyne, though. That only makes Jeyne all the more devoted.

Someday, perhaps Jeyne will show her, the way Sansa shows Jeyne what it is to burn herself. For now, she only shrugs and sinks deeper in the water. She will have to wait until Sansa pleads boredom and heads back until she can tuck her hand between her legs and relieve the growing ache there.

“Perhaps you’re more truly Northern than you think,” she says. Sansa smiles at that. She smiles and Jeyne burns.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Anne of Green Gables, by L.M. Montgomery: “I love bright red drinks, don’t you? They taste twice as good as any other color.”


End file.
